


won't make me happy with a toy

by splatticus



Category: Men's Hockey RPF
Genre: Blow Jobs, Getting Together, I'm Sorry Mariah, M/M, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-31
Updated: 2018-12-31
Packaged: 2019-10-01 22:39:25
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,219
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17252717
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/splatticus/pseuds/splatticus
Summary: Not JT Compher's suavest moment.





	won't make me happy with a toy

**Author's Note:**

  * For [junkeroni (hotdammneron)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/hotdammneron/gifts).



Their ugly sweaters get in the way the first time they try to kiss. Tyson pulls back with impatience--sleigh bells ring out every time he clutches at JT's chest and waist, every time he so much as tugs at the woolen fabric. It's like the most festive signal that they're doing something extra stupid, and JT can't help but laugh every time he hears it. 

JT yelps when Tyson tugs the sonically offensive clothing, up to his armpits, yanking it all the way off him. He lets it fall to the ground of Barrie's garage--there goes their deposit to that costume place--but Tyson's hot mouth seals over his, smothering all protests.

When JT's brain goes back online from that searing kiss, he backs Tyson against the plaster wall. Watching Tyson's flushed face as he closes his eyes, he allows desire to wash over him. He only has a thin undershirt on now, and JT blames that for the way he's shaking uncontrollably against Tyson. This has been building up all day, each moment leading up to this. 

He knew sex has entered the equation when Tyson refused to leave JT's side the minute they entered the party and EJ handed them both a mug of eggnog. Tyson was draped over JT's side even as they were chatting with their teammates, his fingers never leaving the loop of JT's jeans except when either of them was peer pressured into stepping up to the karaoke setup.

He knew from the knowing smirk on Tyson Barrie's face that the tension was thick enough to cut with a knife, and it took JT every ounce of professionalism he had not to get turned on. Or at least not to show it.

But now their teammates are a flimsy door away and the alcohol in his system and Tyson's closeness is fucking up with his common sense, so. 

He goes down on his knees in front of Tyson, but he comes nose to felt nose with the hideous applique that decorates Tyson's sweater. The reindeer's beady eyes meet his and he feels judged.

"Hey," JT says, looking up as he runs his thumb over the button of Tyson's jeans. "I can't blow you with Rudolph staring at me like this. Tyson."

JT calls his name a few more times before it registers. Tyson blinks down at him sluggishly. The curls of his hair are out of control, and the overhead light catches his head so he looks like he's haloed by it. Fuck, JT's becoming sentimental now--this should be a frantic, ill-advised thing, something reckless that they can studiously ignore tomorrow.

"Tyson, take it off."

He must look a mess too, because Tyson keeps looking down at him, cold fingertips tracing his mouth, his cheeks, his beard.

"Come on. Please."

That makes Tyson close his eyes and shudder. Makes him claw at his Christmas sweater and fling it off. When he stares back down with slightly crazed eyes something clicks for JT, raw sensation starting from the back of his throat, rushing down his cock. He start to unbutton Tyson frantically, desperate to finally get his mouth on him.

Tyson slumps a little and bows his head further. It puts his a shadow over his eyes but JT knows with unerring certainty that all his senses are trained on him as JT opens his lips and takes his length.

"Oh--God, oh," Tyson stammers. His fingers scramble at the wall, his nails scratching against the wood. 

Hot, hard cock, already sticky and slick, warm on his lips when JT finally darts his tongue out to taste him there. JT brings his hand up and does what he likes to do to himself, a slow stroke upward and his thumb running softly down the length, before moving back down to the base and holding it steady so JT's mouth can get to work at taking him apart.

No build-up at all, fast and desperate. Strong, greedy suction that he refuses to soften. 

Tyson chokes out JT's name once, his hands hovering over JT as if he's about to ask him to slow down, give Tyson room to breathe. But he doesn't, so JT doesn't.

Sweat is trailing down JT's neck, down his spine, and there's just no way anyone can stop from turning slightly insane from this. His erection, which had been a distant concern just a minute ago, is painful against his jeans now. Closing his eyes will make this more bearable, maybe, but he can't, impossible when Tyson is growling over the wet, sloppy sounds that JT's making. Tyson's hand finally rests on the side of JT's cheek, and his fingertips are tracing his cheek, where his cock is stretching the skin. It's the hottest thing in the world.

"Yeah." Tyson murmurs as the back of is head thunks against the wall, his fingers now tracing his beard. "Come on. It's too good." 

He tightens his grip. Gets to see Tyson gasp, and he wants to see this, all of it, and wants Tyson to see him, too. So he leans back enough to take Tyson of his mouth and rasp. "Open your eyes. Look at me."

"Oh my God."

Their eyes meet as JT puts him back to his mouth, swallowing at the pre-come hitting his tongue. Then he pushes further, his lips touching where is fingers are holding on to the base of Tyson's cock. Tyson sounds like he's drowning and grateful for it, hips moving in abortive jerks. He gasps out JT's name as a final warning before coming.

As far as stupid ideas go, he doesn't know if he'll ever quite regret this one.

Tyson's thighs are shaking around him, threatening to give out, so JT pulls back and starts to stand. He puts his hand on Tyson's hips--still clad in jeans, they're so fucking stupid--and pushing him against the wall. 

"Shh, you're okay," he whispers, running his hands soothingly up Tyson's torso. Then Tyson puts his hands around JT's neck and--well, it's a lot. They're closer than a whisper.

Tyson starts laughing, almost shy. "Holy shit."

"Yeah." JT grins back. His erection is an unsubtle thing against Tyson's thigh, but he somehow feels less frantic now, basking in the glow of Tyson's unabashed pleasure.

Tyson kisses him then, his tongue delving into JT's mouth where he's sure to be tasting his own come--the thought makes his cock jerk painfully in his own jeans, catching Tyson's attention. He can't even gasp out a polite protest before Tyson's warm hand is tight around him.

"I knew it," Tyson whispers, still smiling at him. "I knew you were singing that Mariah song for me."

"No, I--"

" _You don't want a lot for Christmas_ ," Tyson croons as he starts stroking JT off. " _There's just one thing you need. You don't care about the presents underneath your Christmas tree._ "

Fuck, he's so far gone for this asshole.

"A handjob is not gonna get you out of buying a real present for me," JT manages to gasp out, closing his eyes against the building orgasm. "I--fuck it, you're good. I have an Amazon wishlist, you have no excuse."

He comes to Tyson singing, _All you want for Christmas is me_ , and it's kind of embarrassing.

*


End file.
